


Being Stanley Pines

by chibiMuffin999



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Family Feels, Memory Loss, Scrapbooking may occur, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiMuffin999/pseuds/chibiMuffin999
Summary: A closer look at Stan and his relationship with his great niece and nephew from the beginning. Focuses primarily on Stan and Stan's perspective, but there are bits of other characters in it as well.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**_September 7 th, 2000 – Piedmont, CA_ **

“There you are.”  
Stan jumped guiltily. He’d been trying to keep a low profile all day, but clearly not low enough. His mother’s reflection met his eyes in the glass.  
“I thought you’d be here.”

“They’re uh… really cute,” Stan muttered, trying not to itch at the stuffing in his gloves. It’d been driving him crazy all day, but he didn’t dare take them off.  
The kids _were_ cute. They were adorable little drool factories – a matching set. But that wasn’t why he’d been standing outside the nursery window staring at them for the past half hour.

Caryn threaded a knobby-knuckled hand through his elbow as she reached him, leaning her cane against the wall. She patted her son’s arm sympathetically. “You’re thinkin’ about Stanley, huh?”

Stan swallowed hard and looked away. “I think about him a lot.”  
It wasn’t technically a lie.

His mother nodded and turned her attention to the twin babies on the other side of the glass. They were both sound asleep. The little girl was happily sucking on her fist. Caryn smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Me too,” she said softly.  
They were both quiet for a few moments before Caryn glanced up at her son again. “How long are you gonna be in town, Fordsy? I know you’re busy, but… we hardly see you anymore. Shermie was just saying he's barely talked to you since the funeral.”

Stan caught himself fussing with the gloves again and stopped.  
The funeral. Right…  
That had been one of the worst days of his life. He’d still been reeling from the fight with Ford, the portal - watching his brother disappear. The burn on his shoulder hadn’t even fully healed yet, and his suit jacket had rubbed like a grater against the raw skin all night.  
He had still been trying to figure out how to be Stanford then…but which version was he supposed to be? The easy-going teenage wiz-kid he’d grown up with, or the twitchy, paranoid stranger that’d called him to Oregon out of the blue? Had Ford even been home since college? Did his parents know a third Ford that he’d never met? He’d had to take his best guess and wing it.

It hadn’t helped matters that his mother had spent half the time sobbing into his shirt over the wrong son’s loss. There was no way to comfort her but to stand there quietly panicking and let her cry. His father hadn’t said a word to anyone that Stan heard the entire night. Not for the entire weekend he’d been there, in fact. Probably didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t get him slapped by his wife, if Stan had to guess.

Stan stuffed his free hand into his pocket. “I know, Ma. I’m sorry. It’s just… hard to get away. I can stay until Monday.”

It was clear that wasn’t the answer she’d wanted, but Caryn nodded anyway, giving his elbow a squeeze. “Well I’m glad you’re here, now, honey. I know you’ve got your work, but I miss seeing you. …And I know you’re gonna be the best great uncle to those little dumplings in there.”

“Heh, yeah… well, I’ll try.” Stan stared through the glass again. His throat felt thick. “I’ll try.”


	2. Chapter 2

“…Like this?” Stan was trying not to move too much. He’d never really held a baby before - let alone two at once - and he didn’t want to risk dropping them.

The nurse stood back and considered the tableau. “Shift him up a little bit,” she commanded, adjusting the angle of Stan’s arms and nudging his elbow. “Keep your hand under her head. There, just like that,” she said finally. “You look like a pro.”

There was a sudden faint buzzing noise and the nurse distractedly reached for her pocket, tugging out a pager. She glanced at it, pulled a face, and groaned.

“I’m being paged, Mr. Pines, and it looks urgent. Are you alright here?”  
  
Stan glanced at the newborns in his arms. It was just a couple of babies… he could handle that right? “Oh, uh… yeah. Sure. We’ll be fine.”  
  
“Press the call button if you need help.” Her pager buzzed again and she swatted at it irritably until it stopped. “Please don’t need help.”

“No problem, we’ll be-“ The nurse was out the door before the words were out of his mouth. He was alone.

Stan glanced over at the empty hospital bed across the room. A small collection of congratulatory cards were laid out on the night stand next to it, with a pair of foil balloons idly bobbing in the air conditioning overhead. “It’s a girl! It’s a boy!” they declared together, weaving around each other and getting tangled in one another’s string.

His niece, Sheila, and her husband had gone down to the cafeteria with Shermie for some air and a late lunch. His mother had gone back to her hotel to shower and change. For a few precious minutes, Stan had the kids all to himself.

He stared down at the infants in his arms. They were impossibly tiny, with scrunched little red faces and curious flailing hands. Completely identical except for a smattering of dark freckle-like spots across the little boy’s forehead. They almost looked like a connect-the-dots. A birthmark, apparently. Stan gingerly skimmed a finger over it. The baby burbled at him.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. Bein’ a little weird runs in the family,” Stan told him softly. The girl hiccupped and waved her tiny hands at the sound of his voice. _Bah!_ She proclaimed proudly, blowing a spit bubble. Stan smiled at her. “You two are gonna fit right in.”

 _Man, Ford would’a loved these little weirdos_ \- Stan thought absently, before his breath caught in his throat. The smile vanished. It had been almost 20 years now, and thinking about his brother still felt like a swift kick in the ribs.

Stan shook his head. “You guys are really lucky - you know that?” he murmured. “You got a twin. …D’you know what that means?” The kids just stared back at him, uncomprehending. “You got a built-in best friend for life. Whatever you little gremlins do… just… don’t lose that. You got the best gift in the whole world. Don’t-don’t mess it up like I did…”

Stan took a deep breath. This was stupid, they were infants. They didn’t have a clue what he was saying... But what did it matter?

“Don’t be like me. Don’t be like me, whatever you do.” A trail of heat snaked its way down his cheek. Stan sniffed and tightened his grip on the twins. His shoulders shook. “Please don’t be like me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**_ Twelve Years Later: _ **

“Oh, uh, yeah, I got the card, Sheila. It sure is… sparkly.” Stan braced the phone against his shoulder and tried to brush a small puddle of glitter off the kitchen table. Most if just clung to the rough, cracked wood and spread out in a glitzy smear - the rest ended up stuck to the side of his hand. He tried to brush it off on his pant leg, but that only succeeded in spreading the contamination further. Stan was still finding sparkles all over the house - despite having opened the mail out on the porch… last week.

“Yeah, that was Mabel’s doing,” Sheila was saying cheerfully. In the background, he could hear children stampeding by, shrieking at the top of their lungs. “Sorry, hang on, -Dipper, what did I tell you about jumping on the couch? … No, go play with that outside. … Yes, you do have to… Yes- Look, I’m talking to Uncle Stanford, just go play in the yard, please.” There was some muffled rustling and a door opened and shut. “Sorry, the kids were tearing up the house.”

“Sounds like they’re runnin’ wild,” Stan glanced at the clock. He’d have to open the shack in about an hour. Still enough time to see what Sheila wanted and throw some leftover takeout down his throat. She hadn’t called him in probably three years. Most of the family had stopped bothering after his mom had died. Anymore, Shermie and his daughter were the only people he really heard from, and even then it was mostly just making sure he wasn’t dead yet.

Sheila huffed a laugh. “Oh god, when are they **not** running wild? That’s actually why I called, Uncle Stanford. Summer vacation is coming up pretty soon, and I know you haven’t seen the kids since they were tiny. I thought it might be good for them to come down and see you. Get some air, run around in the woods, get to know their ‘grunkle’. Y’know, family bonding stuff.”

Stan hesitated. He was pretty sure Sheila just wanted the kids out of her hair more than she cared about family bonding. Though, he had hit another dead-end trying to restart the portal, so it probably wouldn’t be that hard to hide it from a couple of kids… But he didn’t know anything _about_ kids. He’d largely stopped getting invited to family gatherings when these two were still in diapers; so he especially didn’t know _these_ kids.

But he did miss his family.

“Uncle Stanford?”

“Oh… uh… Yeah!” Stan blurted out without thinking. “Sure! I’d love to see the kids! Send ‘em down. It’ll be great!”

“Oh fantastic! They’ll have so much fun! So school gets out the last week of May, how about if we plan on sending them down on-“

Stan stopped listening.   
What had he just agreed to? _Kids_. He was going to have kids staying in the shack this summer. And not just any kids, but Shermie’s grandkids. …What the hell was he going to _do_ with them…?

He realized the line had been quiet for a little too long. Sheila appeared to be waiting for a response. “Yeah, that all sounds great, Sheila. Look, I gotta go open up, just let me know when the bus’ll get here, and I’ll go pick the kids up. … Uh huh. Yeah, nice talkin’ to you too. Uh huh. Bye.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Hello?”

“Hi Uncle Stanford – how are Dipper and Mabel?” Stan groaned under his breath. First the pig had drooled on his slippers, then there had been the smell of burnt hair coming out of whatever the hell Ford was doing downstairs - and now this. Stan massaged his forehead. He was not having a good day.

“Hi Sheila, the kids are fine. They’re upstairs doing… I dunno, somethin’.”

“Listen, I just checked our mail and I got a really weird letter from Mabel. Do you know what’s going on with her? I’m a little worried.”

“Sheila, the kids are fine. I’m telling you - I just checked on ‘em like an hour ago.”

There was an uncomfortably long pause on the line.  
“Look, Uncle Stanford, I know you don’t like to talk about this, but… well… why does Mabel think your twin brother is living in your basement? I mean… there’s a drawing of him and everything! I didn’t tell her about the accident, did you? I think that’d really scare her. … I don’t think even - _I_ \- ever met Uncle Stanley…”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and resisted the urge to swear. He could handle this. He could definitely handle this. “No… she… uh… She musta’ found an old photo album or something. I don’t even **have** a basement here! You know how that kid’s imagination is. I’ll talk to her about it.” Yeah, he couldn’t handle this.

“… Ok,” Sheila seemed hesitant. “Uncle Stanford, I’m… I’m really really sorry for bringing this up… I know it’s hard for you to talk about him, just… it was like a ghost story or something. I’m a little freaked out.”  
  
Stan took a deep breath. “It’s …fine. It’s fine. I’ll talk to her…. I gotta go.” He hung up before Sheila could argue.  
Hard to talk about…? She had no idea.

Stan had spent 30 years trying to get his stupid smarty-pants brother back from god knows where; then when he’d finally managed it, Ford still hated him. The guy just hung out in his basement all day doing… ‘science’, he guessed… and barely spoke to any of them. When Ford _did_ come up out of his dungeon, half the time it was at 2 am, and the other half he blew something up. Sometimes it was both.  
At least when Ford was missing, Stan could pretend that when he was found, things would be ok between them again. Not knowing where Ford was or if he was ok had been torture. …Having his brother hating him from only a few rooms away was almost worse.  
  


Stan could feel a migraine coming on.  
“Kids!” he barked, heading up the stairs. “New rule! No more tellin’ your parents about all the weird crap around here! Your mom’s gonna kill me as it is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Dungeons Dungeons and more Dungeons episode, Mabel is writing a letter home to her parents about Ford living in the basement. We never actually see her *send* it, but it got me thinking: what if she did?


	5. Chapter 5

“What other choice do we have?” Ford slumped against the bars of the bizarre cage Bill had trapped them in. They had minutes before they either watched a triangular demon slaughter the kids or let him destroy the universe. It was too much to hope that the twins would manage to escape. Even if they did, where would they go?  
It was over. They’d lost.

Stan stood staring out in the direction the kids had run. His shoulders sagged. It didn’t matter if Ford gave him what he wanted; Bill was going to kill them. It wasn’t a question of if, just when. Stan had worked with guys who thought like Bill at the lowest points in his life. They’d promise you anything to get what they wanted, then throw your body in the river after.  
He didn’t particularly like where his thoughts were taking him right now, but he and Ford had already screwed up all the decent options by fighting like morons - again. He sighed, took a deep breath, and made peace with what he was about to do.

“What if I’m you?”

Ford startled and stared at him.  
“...What are you suggesting?”

Stanley dropped down beside his twin and started tugging off his shoes. “I was you for thirty years, Poindexter. Even Mom couldn’t tell the difference. I doubt that pointy dickhead can do any better. Your brain zapper’ll work on me. If he thinks I’m you, he takes the bait, and you fry ‘im.”

Something crashed in the distance.

Ford vehemently shook his head, face going ashen white.  
“Stan, **_no_**! Even if that worked, and I’m not sure it would, you’d be … erased. …You’d be as good as dead! This is _my_ mistake, I can’t let you – ” he was rudely interrupted by Stan’s jacket hitting him in the face. The tie followed shortly after.

“We’re outta time and I’m not standing here and watching that asshole kill those kids. So, unless you got a better idea that’s not just givin’ up, get dressed.”

Ford didn’t move for a few moments. He gripped the jacket like he meant to tear it in half. He hated everything about this plan... but Stan was right. This was the only way they even had a chance. It was this half-baked scramble or nothing. Reluctantly, he shrugged out of his own coat and miserably handed it over.

___

“...Holy shit.” Stan froze in the middle of stuffing a hanky down the extra finger of Ford’s glove.  
  
Ford didn’t turn around. “Why did you _think_ I wore a turtle-neck all summer, Stanley?” He tugged the dress shirt up over his shoulders and started buttoning it. “Forget it. We need to hurry.”

Stan got back to work, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye. “Y’know, if we survive this, I got questions.”

Ford focused slightly harder than he really needed to on tying his bow-tie. “Right,” he murmured. “If we survive this…”

Even if they all survived… the Stan he knew wouldn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

Ford had to hand it to him: Stanley really was a master con-artist. His impersonation was flawless, and he committed to it like a pro. Bill fell for it all, hook, line, and sinker. He dropped the kids and promptly forgot all about them - too busy gloating to notice that anything was off.

Dipper and Mabel groaned and slowly picked themselves up where they’d fallen. They were alive at least, if bruised. Ford tried not to draw attention to them, keeping his focus locked on his brother and Bill.

He bit his tongue and stayed quiet as Stan stepped forward. All the things there hadn't been time to say echoed inside his head.

Stan made his deal and held out his hand. Bill cackled, and the familiar blue flame arced from his fingers onto Stan’s. With a cut-off gasp, Stan jolted, eyes going blank, and crumpled to his knees. He seemed suddenly fragile, like a broken marionette. Vacant and empty-eyed, staring at nothing. …It was like he was already gone.

Bill’s physical form dropped to the floor, temporarily a useless hunk of stone. Ford‘s stomach dropped with it. Whatever Bill had been using to bind him to the ground dissolved. Now it was his turn.

The children had limped over to huddle behind him, trying to regroup. He could sense their confusion, even if he couldn’t bring himself to look either of them in the eye. Neither of them would probably be able to forgive him for what he was about to do.

With shaking hands, he pulled the memory gun out of his jacket and turned the dial, reminding himself to breathe. It would be a matter of moments before Bill realized the trick. Moments he couldn’t afford to waste.

_S T A N L E Y P I N E S_

There wasn’t time to hesitate or explain. He took careful aim at Stan's face and turned away. He couldn’t bear to watch it happen. 

"I'm sorry."

With a deep breath, he pulled the trigger, and Stanley’s brain went up in flames.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly long 'un. 99.9% Canon-compliant.

Clouds of ash hung in a hazy fog over the empty void.

There wasn’t much left behind when the flames subsided. For a while, just stillness and silence. Then, slowly, a faint breeze began to swirl the remains, and what there was slowly coalesced into something resembling a person. That person opened his eyes and took stock.

Wherever he was, it was wooded and damp. He was kneeling in the dirt for some reason, and everything hurt. A little girl abruptly hurled herself into his arms, standing up on tiptoe to deposit a fez on top of his head. She seemed excited, talking animatedly.  
“Oh my gosh, Grunkle Stan, you _did it!_ ” The girl was beaming, despite being as bruised and dirty as he was.

“Oh, uh… hey there, kiddo…” He gently dislodged her hands from his lapels. At least she seemed friendly… “What’s your name?”

The girl stared at him. “… Grunkle Stan…?”

He glanced over his shoulder, but there was nothing there.  
“Who’re you talkin’ to?”

“Grunkle Stan, it’s me.” Her face fell. ”It’s me,” she repeated pleadingly, grabbing hold of him again. She gave him a frantic shake. “It’s me, Grunkle Stan, it’s me!”

The little girl was half hysterical now. She kept repeating ‘it’s me!’ over and over again. A boy that could only be her brother (they looked almost identical) finally pulled her away.

An old man in a black suit was talking to the kids, but he couldn’t follow it – he was still too dazed. The old man eventually approached him as well, kneeling down until they were eye to eye. The man’s face twisted up with some complicated emotion that he didn’t recognize. “You’re our hero, Stanley…” Like the little girl had done, the man threw his arms around him.

He wasn’t sure, but he thought the man might be crying. The little girl certainly was… he could see her openly weeping a few feet away. Her brother hid it better, but he looked just as upset. After a long, anticlimactic moment, the old man finally released him and sat back, swiping at his eyes. They told him to trade clothes with the old man. He couldn’t see the point in that, but then he couldn’t see the harm either. _Sure_ , _why not?_  
Oddly, the new clothes felt more _right_ than his old ones had. He was especially glad to be rid of the gloves, for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The little girl was much more subdued now. She barely said a word, quietly taking him by the hand. As if they’d been waiting for him, the group started moving. The little girl moved with them, tugging until he followed.

They made an odd procession, trooping through the woods. An old man, two weirdly similar kids, a big guy in a T-shirt who kept sniffling and wouldn’t look him in the eye… and finally him, bringing up the rear, as the girl pulled him along. He felt like something about this should be familiar; but every tree looked like another. Nothing about the trail they walked seemed particularly remarkable. He had no idea where they were going.

Eventually the ragged group emerged into a clearing, where the remains of a ramshackle cabin stood. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Everything was broken and smashed. An artificial totem pole was snapped off at the base, lying in two pieces next to the half-crushed front porch. The front door was wedged shut by debris, and had to be shouldered open by the boy. He was half afraid the house would come down on the kid, but somehow it held. The girl led him inside.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to react. He glanced around, reaching for something to say. “Hey… this is a nice place you got here.” A small chunk of the ceiling collapsed and fell. He chose to ignore it.

“It’s your place,” the boy told him as he tentatively started exploring.  
“Don’t you remember, even a little?” the girl echoed pleadingly.

He dropped himself into an inviting and relatively unscathed armchair that he’d just found, with a satisfied thump. It was surprisingly comfortable, almost like it had been waiting for him.

“Nope, but this chair hugs my butt like it remembers,” he chuckled, leaning back and closing his eyes. He opened them again after a few minutes of awkward silence. “Hey… why the long faces? You guys look like it’s somebody’s funeral.” That only seemed to upset them more. The big one whimpered and turned away, sniffling. He frowned. “Who’s the big guy cryin’ in the corner?”

There was more discussion. He couldn’t quite follow it all, but he could only assume they were talking about him again. After a moment, the little girl started frantically rummaging in the debris. He was about to ask what she looking for when she suddenly snatched up a book from the floor and shoved her way into the chair beside him. She dropped the book open in his lap. It was full of photos, little notes, and a frankly unnecessary amount of glitter. She pointed urgently at picture after picture, turning pages faster and faster until they started to blur together. The others had gathered behind his chair.

“Don’t you remember anything?” her brother asked quietly, after he’d drawn a blank at each and every one. He frowned and shook his head. He wanted to. He didn’t want to keep making the kids cry, but…

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what this is or who you are-“ He was abruptly interrupted by the pig that had been following them since they’d reached the house, launching itself into his lap and eagerly licking his face. He recoiled and struggled up to his feet, trying to keep the wriggling pig at arm’s length.  
“Ugh! Quit it, Waddles!” The pig strained to get closer, and he pushed it away. “I’m tryin’ to remember my life story!”

There was a gasp behind him as the pig squirmed and shoved its snout back into his face.

“… What’d you say?”

He wasn’t sure which one of them had asked, busy fending off some overly affectionate bacon. Waddles left a streak of drool across his cheek. “I _said_ , get Waddles _offa_ ’ me!”

That seemed to cause a buzz of excitement. The group began shouting suggestions of things to show him next, pages that had to be read. Annoyed, Stan interrupted the big one.  
“Hey, just because I have amnesia, don’t go tryin’ to give yourself a raise, Soos.”  
This just seemed to excite them more.

Pig finally secured under one arm, he returned to the chair. The girl was practically vibrating. She flipped nervously from page to page, explaining photos in rapid-fire. Stan scratched at Waddles’ ears in the spot he liked and tried to keep up. Mabel showed him a photo of her with the grappling hook he’d apparently given her, and a note about meeting boys she’d liked. Everyone laughed, and after a moment, so did he.

The kids settled in on either side of him and without thinking, Stan put his arms around them. The old man… - Ford- Ford set a hand on his shoulder. Soos was still crying, but at least he seemed happy about it now.

The dust had settled. He remembered.


End file.
